


Courtship

by TimmyJaybird



Series: Carnival [4]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:16:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It could have been a dream, it should have been a dream, but it wasn't. And now Bruce Wayne has a Joker in his penthouse, in his bed, and a whole new set of problems when he realizes he doesn't want the man to leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Courtship

When Bruce opened his eyes, he was struck with three things.

First, the light was on, dim but on, and he couldn’t remember if he had fallen asleep in the light or not.

Second, there was an extra blanket draped over him, one that didn’t match his bed but was heavy and warm- welcoming.

Third, there was a pair of milky white arms wrapped around him, green and blonde curls tickling his chest.

He could have convinced himself it was a dream, a hallucination. He could have told himself it had never happened, he’d never cradled that lithe frame in his arms, watched dirt and grime and paint wash away to reveal a man- not a monster- beneath. He could have, if the Joker had disappeared by morning- disappeared like he was so apt to do.

Finding him still tucked into bed with Bruce- sleeping of all things- threw off that entire fantasy, and he was forced to face the facts that he’d brought the god _damn_ Joker home.

Bruce reached up, pressed his fingers to his temples, ran them up into his own hair. His other arm was around the madman, thumb tracing little circles into his shoulder as if he was his lover or something.

Oh what was _wrong_ with him? This man had wreaked absolute havoc on his city for so long, had caused death and violence and mayhem for what felt like to Bruce an eternity. He’d spent countless nights chasing this madman, beating the ever living shit out of him. And for what end? To end up fucking him in his own bed?

Bruce sighed. What had all that been, if it led to this? Had it been a courtship of blood and bruises and broken bones? Had so many died and lost so much just for him and the Joker to enjoy some sick sort of needy, lustful dance- all to build up to the moments when Bruce cracked, when the madman shattered, when they came utterly undone for each other?

“What sort of bats are flying around in that cave of yours?”

He looked down, saw the Joker was awake, was looking up at him. His hair was tussled, his lips a bit swollen- but those eyes were ever dancing, ever clear.

“Thinking about calling your c-op friends?” He grinned, and Bruce tightened his mouth.

“Considering it,” he lied. He couldn’t call Gordon, not now. How would he explain this? That Batman had dropped Gotham’s most wanted criminal in a playboy’s bed for safe keeping?

“Liiii-ar,” the Joker teased, and Bruce felt one of his hands on his hip, finger tips dancing. Dammit, they were both still naked.

This was not going well.

“You can’t call your friends and explain _thisss_ ,” he said, tilting his head, kissing Bruce’s neck softly. In his frantic awakening, Bruce had forgotten that the Joker’s lips were oddly soft, now free of all that ghastly paint. They found every nerve ending and set them sizzling, and Bruce felt a twitch, a throb in his groin. No, this was not going well at all.

“There’s no way they’d be-lieve that the playboy Bruce Wayne just ac-ci-dent-ally ended up with little ole me in his, ah, _bed_.” He accentuated the last word with a teasing bite, and Bruce couldn’t help himself, he groaned. The Joker seized the moment and grasped onto his manhood, stroking him as he licked and kissed the teeth marks he had left in Bruce’s skin.

Bruce wasn’t sure what to do. On the one hand, this was the Joker. This was chaos and mayhem incarnate, a man without a purpose except to destroy- and on the other hand, he seemed to know Bruce’s skin and nerves and blood and needs like no one else.

He closed his eyes, could see the Joker as just a shaking bundle of nerves from the night before- filthy and drugged out. He’d seemed so human as Bruce had washed it all away, as he’d finally given in and gotten to please the man as he’d wanted to on a rooftop that seemed lifetimes away.

Were he with anyone else, Bruce would have been embarrassed with how quickly he came. Another bite, a tight grip, and he was done, spent on the Joker’s hand, tipping his head back to gasp for air. As he came down from the quick high, he knew he wasn’t going to call anyone.

He was going to see where the madness could take him.

The Joker was actually the first to untangle from the bed, to clean himself up from the night before. Bruce considered getting in the shower with him, but resisted. If he did, it’d be a good hour before they were actually clean.

When the Joker walked out, naked, one hand rubbing a towel in his hair, the other clutching his crumpled clothing from the night before, Bruce about lost it. He watched him walk, eyes tracing scars all along that milky skin, and the Joker just giggled at him, grinned and taunted him with a roll of his hips as he walked over. Bruce wanted to touch him suddenly, felt his fingertips itching and his tongue burning, and it scared him. Instead he got up and walked past him, briskly towards a very cold shower to clear his mind.

The Joker watched, bemused, licking his lips.

After his shower- and some time to cool the fire that seemed to rage in him so quickly around the madman- Bruce found the Joker half dressed in his room. He’d forgone his coat and vest, and his shirt was left open, but at least he was wearing pants.

Pants that seemed more fitted than Bruce ever remembered.

He was walking around Bruce’s room, examining things- picking up books, flipping through a few pages, setting them down- picking up pictures.

He picked up an old one, one Bruce had wished he’d passed over, examined it, looked at Bruce, then back at the picture.

“A _little_ Batsy,” he cooed, “how a-dor-able.”

“Put it down,” Bruce said, irritated. The Joker raised an eyebrow at him, giggling.

“Wh-at? Don’t like people seeing the little Bats? Any of you in the bath tub?” He started looking around and Bruce crossed the room, prying the picture from his hand and setting it down. His parents’ eyes stared back at him from behind the glass, and he could only wonder just _how_ ashamed they’d be if they saw him and his questionable company right then.

“Don’t touch it, or any others,” he warned, his voice slipping low, gravely. For a moment he was Batman- unmasked, but the Dark Knight was there.

The Joker’s lips turned into a tight line, his eyes flashed acid fire, as if Bruce had threatened him. Then he shrugged a shoulder, gave a lazy grin and a half hearted giggle, and brushed past Bruce, towards his door.

“Let me see, ah, the rest of this place at least.” He opened the door and walked out, and Bruce just stood there for a moment, before he realized that the Joker- the goddamned Joker- was about to wonder around his penthouse at will, partially dressed, in the middle of the day.

He rushed after him as if the madman had a slew of hostages just waiting to be shot.

He reached the Joker before he managed to get to the end of the hallway, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back. The man spun around, close to Bruce, smiling with those pouty, naturally rosy lips.

“Mmmm, Brucie, careful,” he said at the iron grip Bruce at at his wrist, “you’ll _ex-cite_ me again.” He pulled away, not hard enough for Bruce to lose his grip, but enough to lean back against the wall, to tilt his head and show off his pale neck. Bruce realized there were faint purple and crimson marks on that skin, a stark reminder of what he’d done the night before.

He considered pinning the Joker to the wall, ravishing that neck, those lips- dragging him back to his bedroom and fucking him like a madman- but a voice of reason spoke up, one that the both of them heard.

“Master Wayne, will you and your...guest be wanting breakfast?”

The two jerked their heads, saw Alfred standing at the end of the hall. Bruce instantly released the Joker’s wrist, and walked quickly over to Alfred, greeting him and trying to act as if that hadn’t been at all what it looked like, though the tinge to his cheeks gave him away.

The Joker grinned and watched the two for a second, before sauntering over.

“You _m-ust_ be the butler I seem to see oh-so very, ah, often.” He grinned, and Bruce wished he had made the Joker button up his shirt before he left his room. Then again, if he’d asked, the man probably would have stripped down and tried to walk around naked. That would have been worse.

“This is Alfred,” Bruce said, trying to be in control. Yes, if he could just get even a sliver of control, he could handle all of this. “Alfred, this-“

“Is the Joker,” the man finished, eyeing him. “Don’t worry Master Wayne, even without his make-up I could recognize that face.”

The Joker giggled, twirling some of his hair. He looked delicious in that moment, and Bruce wished he wouldn’t do that. He _really_ wished he wouldn’t do that. He looked around, trying to find some way to distract the Joker, to get his attention away from Alfred- if Bruce could just have a moment alone with him, he could explain to Alfred.

_Oh, explain what? That you’re fucking Gotham’s most wanted, that your chest tightens like a damned teenage girl when he plays with his hair and looks at you with those damned eyes?_

Yes, explain that. That would go over so well.

Bruce’s prayers were answered though when he heard a little bell, and a black shadow prancing through the room behind Alfred, jumping up onto a couch. Bruce thought nothing of it, until he saw the Joker was watching-

And a moment later slipping past Alfred. The butler turned, and he and Bruce watched as the Joker walked over to the couch, reaching a hand out, and Pumpkin looked at him, then nuzzled his hand, purring loudly.

“She’s-“

“A cat,” Bruce said, rather dumbly, and the Joker was shaking his head. He sat down and the cat crawled onto his lap, sitting there and attacking one of the buttons on his open shirt.

“ _The cat_ ,” he said matter-of-factly, watching her with curious eyes. Bruce didn’t say anything for a moment, then decided this was the chance he needed. He leaned over, speaking softly to Alfred.

“How about we go get some coffee?” He jerked his head when Alfred looked, and the two crept off towards the kitchen.

“You could still call the police,” Alfred was saying as he poured black coffee into two mugs.

“And tell them what? That I’m Batman and had a moment of weakness and let the Joker just crash at my place because he was in a drug induced state?”

“No,” Alfred said, setting the coffee pot down. “Call it in as Batman. And leave the Joker somewhere for the cops to find.”

Bruce leaned on the counter, thought on it. It wouldn’t be that hard to get him subdued now, he could probably do it without risking too much injury to either of them. Then just call it in and leave him somewhere-

Not on the streets, per say. Bruce knew it was still freezing, snowy. But somewhere.

“No,” Bruce said, shaking his head. “They’ll send him back to Arkham, Alfred.”

“Exactly where you always say he should be, sir.”

“Not anymore,” Bruce said, “he’s told me things, Alfred. I’m not sending anyone there until it’s cleaned up. Crane is out, the damned Scarecrow is roaming about like he owns this city again. They let him treat people in Arkham, Alfred- even after I put him in a cell. The officials know and just don’t care. I don’t know how high up this goes- but I’ve got to find out.”

“And what do you propose to do with him, then?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce said, rubbing his temples. “He’s the one who told me this. Told me what Crane is doing out.” With a sigh he explained it to Alfred, as the man set a little bowl of sugar on a tray, a little pitcher of cream. He didn’t comment, only listened, until Bruce was out of words and silently seething. He couldn’t just forget how the Joker looked lying in the snow, or the mess he had been for most of the night. He couldn’t- wouldn’t forget.

Crane would pay.

Alfred carried the tray out, following Bruce. The Joker was laying on the couch now, on his back, while Pumpkin pranced around, swatting at buttons, then turning and gnawing on one of the Joker’s curls. The man was giggling, flicking the little pumpkin with her name written on it, making the bell _tinkle_.

Bruce sat down near the end of the couch, by his feet, picked up his cup of coffee, and watched. In that moment he could forget that the Joker was in fact the Joker, and not just a man. A pretty man, with some pretty heavy scars-

_And no other name_.

It occurred to Bruce he didn’t know the Joker’s name. He never had. Until then, it had been an inconvenience, but now... it just seemed odd. The Joker could forget about Batman and think of Bruce as simply Bruce Wayne- but the playboy was forced to always think of him as the Joker.

He was sitting up, Pumpkin scampering off his lap, nuzzling against Bruce, then hoping off the couch and following Alfred out of the room, for her own breakfast.

“Pumpkin,” the Joker mused, shifting his toes under Bruce’s thigh and giggling at the warmth, at the roll of Bruce’s eyes when he wriggled them. “So _fitting_ , given she was a Hall-o-weeeen gift.”

“A gift?” Bruce asked and the Joker shrugged a shoulder.

“Suuure. I _did_ leave her in your car.” He grinned, and Bruce was shaking his head, leaning forward to grab the other mug, and handing it to him. The Joker looked at it a moment, took a sip, and made a face of pure disdain. Wriggling free from Bruce, he leaned forward, and the playboy watched as he spooned enough sugar to make a candy bar into the cup, swirled in some cream, then sat back, drinking it- looking only slightly more pleased.

“Maybe I should have just given you the sugar,” the playboy mused, and the Joker grinned.

“Should have. You li-ke me sweeeet.” He winked, Bruce smirked- though he didn’t mean to, and the two sat in silence for a bit, warming themselves with the coffee.

Until Alfred appeared with a phone, beckoning Bruce. Someone in the company, they needed him for something. Bruce took it with a sigh, walking away with it planted to the side of his face. Alfred settled down on another couch, opposite the Joker, and the madmen smiled behind his coffee cup and watched him.

“This must be what teenage boys feel like,” he said,” when they meet their date’s father. How _charming_.” He took another sip, eyes never leaving Alfred.

“Play that part as much as you want,” Alfred said, “you weren’t very terrifying last night, Joker.”

“No,” the Joker said, setting the barely touched coffee on the table. He never liked the stuff. “No, I wasn’t.” He didn’t giggle, didn’t smile, his voice was calm and unwavering, accepting.

“You and Master Wayne are even now,” Alfred was saying, “you brought him to me when he was hurt, and now he’s saved you as well. You can go back to the streets, and he can go back to trying to lock you away.”

“Oh, nonononono,” Joker said, “Brucie isn’t about to lock _me_ up. He promised.”

“He’ll lock you up when he remembers who you are,” Alfred said, standing up, brushing the wrinkles from his jacket. “When he’s sick of you.” He turned to go, but stopped, speaking without looking back. “So don’t remind him of what you really are, Joker.”

He left the Joker alone with those thoughts, face long and serious, as if he hadn’t ever thought of that possibility.

When Bruce returned a few minutes later, the Joker had moved to the window, sitting on the sill and staring out at a white covered Gotham. The snow had ceased, but the skies were dark still, as if they could open up at any moment. It was going to be a long, frigid winter, Bruce knew.

He walked over and leaned against the lithe man, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Alfred was nowhere to be seen, so Bruce allowed himself this brief moment of contact, leaning down to kiss the back of the Joker’s head, those delicious curls.

“So what now?”

It was quiet, too quiet for the Joker. A simple question, too. Bruce wondered where the trick is.

“Right now? I’m thinking we should go back to bed,” Bruce murmured, “it’s cold, and you’re still weak from those drugs.”

The man shifted beneath him, placed his fingertips on the glass, but didn’t turn.

“And then?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Well... then tonight, I go out and try to find our good friend Dr. Crane, and pay him a little visit. Take him back to his beloved asylum.” He leaned down, found the Joker’s neck and teased it, felt the breath the man took more than heard it. His arms untangled from around his shoulders, only to tangle around his waist, but the Joker was squirming away.

“But after that?”

Bruce stopped. _God, what else does he want?_ He was confused, so he just shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know. They all spend a long time in Arkham and hopefully we get a little peace in this city.”

He’d barely stopped speaking when the Joker was pulling away, shoving past him roughly, turning into a blur as he moved. Bruce stepped back, too shocked for a second to move, before he chased after him, back to the bedroom.

He had buttoned his shirt while walking, and was slipping his vest on, looking around and muttering something about shoes. Bruce reached out to him, and the Joker slapped his hand away, glaring at him.

“Don’-t,” he said, finding them and stopping to slip into them. Then he was throwing his jacket on and pushing past Bruce, and the playboy felt like the world was spinning.

“Where are you going?” he asked, following him as the Joker walked around, lost, trying to find the exit.

“Somewhere, Bats,” he said, finally seeing it and making a bee line for the elevator. He hit a button, and Bruce was there in an instant, grabbing him and turning him around, pinning him to the wall.

“ _Where_?” he asked, voice slipping into that guttural growl. The Joker grinned, but it was a pained grin, an angry grin.

“Not to your little _play date_ ,” he said, “just out of here.”

“Why?” Bruce pressed closer, and the Joker placed a hand on his chest and shoved him back, slipping from his arm just as the elevator opened.

“Because we’re even, Bats,” he said, stepping onto it, running a hand through those curls as he turned and stared. His hand ran down his face, over the bareness, and he felt naked without his make-up. “Next time we meet, it’ll be back to the way things ought to be, dar-ling.”

The last word seemed painful, and Bruce watched the doors close and the man disappear, those green eyes aching. Bruce felt the world crumbling, little by little.

He sat back on the couch when he was sure the Joker wasn’t going to appear again- wasn’t going to trick him and end up naked on the elevator, beckoning Bruce on like a fiend. When it returned, it had been empty. He held his head, fingers in his hair. His temples ached, he felt sick, and he had no idea what was going on.

“Master Wayne?” Alfred walked in, but Bruce didn’t look up. The older man sat on the couch next to him. “Where-“

“Gone, Alfred.” Bruce opened his eyes, glanced over. “He’s gone.” The man said nothing, and Bruce shook his head, leaned back to dig the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I just don’t _get_ it. One second he was fine, the next he was storming out like a goddamn woman.”

“He’s the Joker, sir,” Alfred said, “you’ve never known him to be stable. This is for the better, no good was going to come from having him here.”

“And why not?” Bruce sat up, looked at him. “He wasn’t causing any harm, here. He was behaving-“

“But for how long? How long until he would get bored, Master Wayne?”

“Maybe he wouldn’t,” Bruce said, arms slipping to his sides. “Maybe he’d, I don’t know- _change_. Maybe if I...”

He trailed off, tightening his lips, and Alfred sighed.

“Sir, I already know.”

“Know what?”

“About you... and him.” Alfreid folded his hands. “The snow knocked the power out last night, and I didn’t want you to get too cold.” Bruce gave a small smile- that was Alfred, acting the father figure still. “And you were alone with him, I thought it only safe to check in. But what I saw.” He paused, seemed to think on it for a moment. “What I saw, Master Wayne, was not the madman you have told me so much about, that I’ve seen on the news after he’s destroyed yet another part of the city. He didn’t seem very terrifying.” Alfred looked at Bruce. “Nor did you.”

Bruce sighed, ran one hand through his hair again, tugging at it. “He was pissed,” Bruce muttered. “And I don’t know why.”

“Well, best find him and ask,” Alfred said, “if you truly care for the answer, Master Wayne. I’m afraid I gave him a piece of advice while you were on the phone, but he gave me little in response.”

“What did you say?” Bruce asked, staring at him, and Alfred sighed.

“I told him not to remind you of what he truly is.”

Batman was out that night. As if there had ever been a choice to stay in. He had returned to where he found the Joker, crouching in the cold snow, unmoving. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he knew it when he saw it.

She had a hood pulled up, hands tucked into her pockets, but he knew her. Something in her walk, perhaps- or maybe he was just used to her body, the way he tangled with her as he did ever other criminal in Gotham.

She had stopped in the snow, looking at the mess Bruce had left when he carried the Joker away. Tracks and smears and trails, a story in chaos, but one she couldn’t read.

He’d have to read it to her.

“Ivy,” he said, looming in the depths of the night so suddenly. She looked up, waited a moment, then pulled her hood down, red hair tumbling free.

“Well Batman,” she mused, “fancy meeting you here. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“You were expecting the Joker.”

She eyed him, pursing her lips together. “I was expecting, but hoping I wouldn’t find him. Meant he didn’t freeze to death.” She waited a moment, and when he didn’t speak, she continued. “You wouldn’t happen to know where he’s gone to, would you?”

“He was with me,” Bruce admitted, “last night, after what Crane did to him.”

“So he’s back in Arkham then,” she said, pulling her hands from her pockets and folding her arms. “Which means Crane will have him again in a heartbeat.”

“No.” Batman stepped closer. “He stayed with me, personally. I didn’t send him back there. Not after what he told me Crane is doing.”

Ivy raised her eyebrows, but smiled. “Well, well, well, so the Joker talked some sense into the Bat? What are you going to do, reform your favorite closet for maniacs?”

“Yes,” Bruce said, clenching a fist. “Starting with getting Crane off the streets and in a _real_ cell.” He folded his arms, trying to keep calm at the thought of the mad doctor. “But I need something from you, Ivy.”

“And what’s that?”

“Tell me where they are.”

“Crane and his experiments? Keep me off the hook and I’ll gladly show you-“

“Not just them,” Batman said, “the Joker too.”

“You said he was with you.” Batman sighed, muttered about how he had left. It made Ivy laugh, the odd glum look in his eyes, barely visible with that mask. “Oh god, was there a lover’s quarrel?” She laughed more, holding her sides, but Bruce stiffened. “Seriously Batman, I’m shocked you didn’t wake up with the man on top of you. The way he talks about you, it’s-“ she shuddered, “obscene.”

“Does he have somewhere he goes?” Bruce asked. “When he’s not with Crane?”

Ivy chuckled. “He’s not with Crane much. Didn’t seem very found of our good doctor, but I can’t say I blame him. Yes, he does, though I can’t tell you exactly where.” She reached up, tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Like I said, promise to keep me off the hook, and I’ll show you _him_.”

“And Crane?”

“You want him, ask your Joker,” Ivy said, turning away. “I can only give you so much.”

She only got a few steps before Bruce chased after her, his decision made.

He waited until the next night to actually hunt down the Joker. Ivy had shown him the run down, vacant apartments, said she had seen him around there a few times since they were freed from Arkham. She figured he just wanted somewhere to go that was low profile, where it wouldn’t be obvious to Crane.

When Bruce went after him, it wasn’t as Batman. He left the suit and mask at the Penthouse, drove one of his cars over the slushy streets, parked in the dark, and walked as a regular man on the icy sidewalks. It was unnerving, and he couldn’t imagine how tense he’d feel if he didn’t spent so much time as the dark knight.

Ivy had guessed which building he would be in, and Bruce had to go with her suspicion. He walked up the old steps, realized they were once nice, before the street had been deserted, left to the thugs and criminal and low lives. It was a little cliche.

He tried the door, but it didn’t budge. The lock was old though, and with a few toys from his pocket, Bruce had it open. He slipped inside, out of the wind, and relocked the door behind him. It was hard to see, there were no lights on, and the windows were so cold and dusty if there had been strong moonlight it wouldn’t have been able to get in.

“You’ve got some nerve, _Bats_.” He looked up, saw the Joker leaning over the railing to an old stairwell. He was just a shadow, but Bruce was fairly sure that shadow wasn’t smiling. “Breaking into a man’s own private home.” He _tisked_.

Bruce waited as he disappeared, heard the old steps creaking as he moved. When he appeared again he was clearer, still unsmiling, make-up present one again. His jacket and vest were gone, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, gloves gone. As if he had been working on something.

“Wellwellwell,” he mused, leaning against the old banister. “Not Bats, just Brucie. I expected the cap and mask, dar-ling.” When Bruce didn’t respond, he reached up, played with one long curl. “To what do I owe this _pleasure_? Change your mind about keeping me out of Arkham?”

“You ran off,” Bruce said, walking towards him, feeling those green eyes staring daggers into his blood. “I...I-“

“Don’t tell me the big bad Bat was _worried_ about lil ole me?” He dropped the curl, placed his hands on his own chest for emphasis. Bruce closed the gap, reached up and placed a hand against his cheek, thumb tracing over one long, puckered scar.

“Of course I was,” he admitted, afraid for a second that the Joker was going to shove him away, the way those eyes lit with fire. But when his thumb moved his lids grew heavy, lips parting ever so slightly at the soft caresses. “I’ve been worried about you since I found you in the bloody snow, Joker. Like it or not, you got under my skin.” He paused, let his finger tips flex into his curls. “I thought that was what you _wanted_.”

He leaned in, kissed the Joker, who stood there, tense, let it happen, didn’t react until that thumb traced his scar again. Bruce hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until those lips moved. Afraid the Joker would have a knife in him in less than a heartbeat. He’d never stop being dangerous, Bruce knew- and he’d taken a risk showing up without his suit to protect him.

His other arm snaked around the lithe man’s waist, pulled him against Bruce’s chest. The Joker hesitated a moment, waited for another caress, then his arms were around Bruce’s neck, leaning into him, one hand fisting in his short dark hair.

Bruce whimpered when he tugged on it, was rewarded with a playful smile and a nip to his lower lip.

“Why ya gotta be so _irresistible_ , Bats?” he asked, before pulling away, taking Bruce’s hand, leading him up the stairs.

Bruce’s head was spinning. The clown was like a drug, he needed him so badly, but when he got him he could barely keep track of what was going on, of where the floor was in relation to the ceiling, of how many seconds had passed since he breathed, if he’d spoke or not.

Two flights up and Bruce was dragged through a hallway, pressed against the wall right next to a door and kissed again, this time the Joker leading. One hand tore at Bruce’s shirt, buttons ripping, the hand gliding over naked flesh, leaving behind trails of fire. Bruce moaned, let the back of his head thump against the wall as the Joker attacked his neck, bit and sucked and licked and marked him. The world would know that Bruce Wayne belonged to _somebody_.

One of the Joker’s hands was gliding against the wall, grasping a door knob and fighting with it half mindedly, too busy with Bruce’s skin to pay full attention. When the door finally gave way he was off again, dragging Bruce inside, throwing the door shut behind him.

Bruce had a second to take in the room. One room, wallpaper old and stained and peeling. One old wooden desk, with a little lamp on, covered in knives. That’s what he had been doing- he’d been cleaning them.

If Bruce had more than a second to think, it would have unnerved him. But then he was being shoved through the room, to to bed that lay unmade below a small window. The Joker turned him around and shoved him back. Bruce landed on the mattress, legs splayed, and the Joker grinned, staring at him for a moment, before he dove after him. He ripped his jacket off, finished the work he had done on Bruce’s shirt, until he was half naked, and those scared hands were going everywhere, finding every inch of skin to be touched.

He kissed Bruce as his fingers undid his belt, opened his pants, until one was delving inside to tease him, the playboy beyond half hard already.

“You’re just so _eager_ , Batsy darling,” he cooed, teasing, his tongue tracing Bruce’s jawline. He nipped at his earlobe, felt Bruce’s hands shaking, trying to work his own shirt. The Joker giggled, used his free hand to help, then pulled his hands from Bruce’s aching erection for long enough to strip of the fabric. He tossed it behind him, then resumed his touches, making Bruce shiver and quake.  
“Fuck,” Bruce cursed, his hands grasping the Joker’s hips, before fumbling with the button on his pants. Amused, the clown didn’t help, just watched, slowing his strokes to a painful tease. When Bruce finally got them opened he grinned, tugging them half way down his hips and pressing his palm to the Joker’s manhood, only kept from him by a thin layer of cotton now.

The Joker grinned, giggled, then moaned when Bruce stroked him through it, his hips pushing towards that hand.

“You’re overdressed,” he teased Bruce, and the playboy gave him a teasing smile.

“So are you.”

Untangling from Bruce for a moment, the Joker stood, kicked his shoes off, and stripped, while Bruce attempted to do the same, lifting his hips to pull his remaining clothing off. The moment he was naked the Joker was on him, pushing him down. Bruce wriggled to turn and lay on the bed properly, head landing on a musty pillow.

The Joker was between his legs, nipping at his inner thighs, tracing patterns in them, his lips trailing up, until the connected with the base of Bruce’s cock. The vigilante tipped his head back, the blanket bunching up in his hands as the Joker teased, kissed and licked, before swallowing the head. For a moment the only sound was the soft sucking sound of his lips and mouth, before Bruce broke his self control and gasped, pushed his hips up, felt the Joker’s hands press his hips back down to keep from choking.

It was easy- far too easy- to get lost in that mouth. Bruce could wonder later about how the Joker seemed to know- always seemed to know- just how to touch him, how to move. When his sensitive cock brushed along the puckered scar inside his mouth Bruce groaned and over powered those pale hands, pushing deeper, needing more, more contact, more skin, needing to be sheathed so fully inside something that he was lost.

“Come here,” he beckoned, wanting the Joker to slither up his body, grind against him, kiss him. Wanted access to the rest of his milky skin- wanted to fuck him into oblivion and drag him down into the depths of his own spiraling passion.

The Joker lingered, until Bruce was grabbing his shoulder, trying to pull him up. He followed the movement, laid over Bruce, kissed him in an instant, felt his hands roaming, lower and lower, along spine and hips. The Joker was smirking, nipping at his lip, crawling up his body so he was half laying, half propped up on his elbows, his hips and cock brushing against Bruce’s ribs.

He took Bruce’s hand, sucked two fingers into his mouth, swirled his tongue along them and watched those dark eyes grow so heavy with need. When he released them Bruce’s hand disappeared- his palm running along the underside of the Joker’s cock, his balls, before nestling against his entrance, forcing one in, and the other after only one stroke.

The Joker cried out, a sweet, sweet sound, letting hsi head fall down, curls brushing along Bruce’s cheek and shoulder. His free hand reached up, sank into his curls, tugging on them as he pumped his fingers, as he made the man wriggle and squirm, arch against the intrusion.

When he brushed the Joker’s prostate with a curl of his fingers, the man cried out, quivering, his cock twitching and aching and throbbing and _needing_.

“Just fuck me Bruce,” he hissed, and the playboy was rolling them over, in the tangle the Joker’s mouth finding his cock again, only for a moment to wet him as best as he could.

It hurt, Bruce assumed, when he pushed into him, pressing him onto his stomach on the mattress. He was tight and hot and shaking, enough to drive him wild already, but Bruce hesitated, only to hear the man gasp and groan and then giggle.

“ _Hurt me_ ,” he growled, serious, and Bruce lost himself. For a moment he was Batman again, taming the Joker in the most primal way he could. He drove into his body with such need, such ferocity he was sure he’d tear through into his intestines. One hand dragged down the man’s back, tearing skin and leaving angry red marks speckled with beads of blood.

He leaned over him, fisted his hand in the man’s hair, yanked his head up and licked at his jawline.

“Hurt enough?” he asked through puffs of breath. The Joker squirmed, grinding into his mattress for friction- desperate for it. He grinned then, pulled away completely from Bruce and sat up. He reached out, pulled Bruce closer by his hair, making him grimace and groan.

“Hit me,” he growled, kissed him, dragged his nails down his chest. A moment, and when he leaned back to breathe Bruce’s fist connected with his jaw, sending his head lolling back. His chest heaved a moment before he straightened his neck and crawled onto Bruce, mounting him as the playboy fell victim against the bed.

Bruce bucked up into him, hands grasping his hips, already so close. The Joker clutched onto his arms, head tipping forward, then back, curls swinging as he closed his eyes and moaned, Bruce’s cock brushing him in all the right places. The vigilante ripped one arm free of his grasp, clutched at his cock and stroked, in perfect tempo with the way the Joker was grinding against him.

Bruce wanted to let go, to flood the Joker and give into his pleasure, but he wanted him to come first. With a few powerful thrusts up, and a gravelly, guttural growl of, “Come!” the Joker was gone, crying out, muscles clenching Bruce so tight. His cock throbbed and left traces on Bruce’s stomach and hand, white hot streaks of his obvious pleasure.

Bruce followed in less than a breath, fingers digging into the Joker’s hip with bruising force, calling out to him in his tormented ecstasy. When the high began to ebb, the Joker slumped a little, panting, before he climbed off of Bruce. The playboy sat up, only to have the Joker bend down, his tongue tracing along his stomach, cleaning up the mess he had made.

Bruce shuddered and had to pull him up, body wanting another round even though he wasn’t ready. The Joker grinned, and Bruce let him kiss him, tasted the salty, bitter taste on his lips, committed it to memory, only until he could get his lips on the Joker himself.

He guided the Joker down into the bed, tangled their legs together as the madman was pulling a blanket up over them. Bruce only realized than that it was cold- not much warmer than outside, in truth. He held the man tighter, nestled into him, kissed his forehead and temple and a line of scars along his cheek.

“I’m glad I found you,” Bruce said, and the Joker was kissing his throat, lightly, murmuring something. Bruce couldn’t understand him, bu laughed at the warm feeling in his gut, saying in a joking tone, “love you too, sweetheart.”

He closed his eyes then, expected laughter, didn’t hear it, but didn’t bother investigating. It was dark and cold and he was exhausted, he simply wanted to sleep with this lithe frame tangled with him.

He missed the drop in the Joker’s face, the way his eyes seemed frantic, pools of boiling acid in the dark. He missed the slight quiver as the thin man came undone, as he held onto Bruce as if he was being dragged away-

As he realized he was losing his own flirtatious game, and falling into one that Bruce governed.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize that this update took so long. ON top of my grad classes and work, my grandfather has been in the hospital for a week, so I've been there when I'm not at work. He's doing much better, tho!
> 
> Story wise, this ended up so much more focused on the relationship than I meant. But I think I'll just go with it. There is at least one more fic in the series, possibly two. I haven't decided yet, it depends on how the next one pans out.
> 
> As always, thank for reading!


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